river tradition says will keep a corpse on the bottom of the river. He filled the body with sand and buttoned an old overcoat tightly around it, and then cast it into the river tied in the tarpaulin on which he had performed his loathsome task. He threw overboard the knife that he used, and when he was done, there was not a speck or a fleck of any kind to betray his ghastly, perfectly premeditated horror.
He went on up the river then to meet Mrs. Mahna, Delia, White Collar Dan, or any one who might perchance inform him with regard to the mystery of the diamonds. White Collar Dan had the reputation of trailing a man for days, weeks, months, seeking opportunity to rob him. Jose Macrado entered upon his diamond-hunting career with a reputation as a mere careless, shiftless shantyboater, kind of a watermelon stealer and corn busker, who would work a few days in a sawmill to earn money to lounge down the river doing nothing for a few weeks.
No one, anywhere, had ever suspected José Macrado of harbouring the spirit of a cat waiting for a mouse—for Fortune to show him his prey; much less no one ever had suspected him of being desperate or vicious enough to do murder for his first step in a long, carefully laid development of plans.
No sooner was he rid of Frest than he reckoned the spoils of his venture. The motorboat was worth $300
